The Case of the Emerald Puppet Mouse
by Winter Winks 221
Summary: Our favourite mice investigators run into one of their most strangest cases yet...
1. Doom and Despair

The Great Mouse Detective: The Case of the Emerald Puppet Mouse

Chapter 1: Imprisoned

Our current situation looks hopeless for Basil and I. We are both locked in a small dark, damp cell of some sort; my dear friend was badly injured after a fight and a subsequent fall; and neither of us had any means of escape, or alerting someone to our captivity.

I wince as I attempt to bandage Basil's twisted ankle, once I had seen to cuts and bruises, using the sleeves of my coat. My friend stares at me as I work, methodically carrying out this minor procedure, when he at last speaks.

"Dawson it is cold in here, you'll freeze-"

"I would rather freeze than allow you to remain untreated!" I hiss in response. "I nearly died in scorching heats and other terrible conditions for Queen, Country and you- in the service and on cases!" I spoke, perhaps too harshly, for Basil falls silent, and a quick glance at his face reveals a hint of hurt, though it disappears as quickly as it had appeared.

"So what happened after I was rendered unconscious?" He asks me at length, in his usual analytical tone. "Spare me no details, Dawson- but pray do not embellish them either, as you are accustomed to doing in your writings."

I sigh with exasperation on hearing this. I am fond of the mouse, but he does honestly take every opportunity to criticise my poor accounts.

"Well, if you must know, I attempted to get you to safety." I huff; then on realising what I said, knew that Basil would have me pay the price for sentiment later

"You did, even after what I said?" He asked, surprising not only me, but himself also for saying it out loud and also for even saying such a statement at all.

I nod slowly, almost stupidly.

"You are a mouse of surprises, my dear Dawson."

I feel my face grow warm on hearing that- only for it to cool again quickly as I feel tears of embarrassment flowing down my face. He says nothing, but I can feel his penetrating, steely green glare at me on my utterance of those words.

"The Emerald Puppet Mouse- she...tricked me." I tell him, wringing my hands. I do not dare look at his eyes, for I am certain I will find shame, anger and annoyance.


	2. Unknown Client

A/N: So sorry for leaving this story so long! I had school, exams, writer's block, overwhelming new ideas...but I have ideas for this fic, so I should be able to update more frequently! Yay! Enjoy the update! 😊

...

But before I divulge our fate of what happened to us both, I must retell our tale from the very beginning for your benefit, dear readers. And it began, as indeed any of my meagre scribblings about our strange and exciting adventures together, in our rooms at 221 ½ Baker Street.

"I am bored, Doctor," Basil informed me sullenly over tea by the fire one cold and icy November evening.

"I say, my dear fellow!" I exclaimed.

My heart went out to my poor friend- suffering from the dreaded combination of boredom and lack of stimulation was never promising for my companion. Indeed, his green eyes, often alight with curiosity, was languid with uninterest. He slumped in his chair and had taken little interest in my attempts at conversation.

In conclusion, Basil was indeed in want of a stimulating, intellectual challenge. At reaching this woebegone deduction, I began to dread the inevitability of Basil resorting to less than admirable means to keep his brain from 'tearing itself to pieces' as he puts it.

Had I an intellectual footing with my flatmate, I would have striven to cease his boredom. Alas, the most I could do was listen in sympathy- and work out new hiding places for his 'vice'. "I am sure something will come, Basil," I said reassuringly, to provide him with some small hope.

"But when, Dawson, when will a new client come?" The detective huffed, blowing out the air from his cheeks in a most unbecoming manner. I refrained from commenting on this, however, and instead picked up the newspaper and my reading spectacles, scanning the headlines and pages for any possible cases for my friend to solve.

"I've checked it, Dawson. Don't bother."

I sighed, and peered over my reading glasses at Basil- the great mouse detective was lying across his beloved red armchair, legs sprawled over one arm, his head bowed outwards on the other. He glared into the flames flickering and crackling gently in the hearth, allowing his dressing gown to pool up his thighs like a purple waterfall.

I took another sip of tea- and grimaced as cold, bitter tea washes down my throat. I put my cup back down mournfully, and allowed myself to resign Basil to his fate.

But, oddly, as though some divine superior being had seen our plight and decided to aid us, we heard a noise in the hallway.

At a remark of protest from our dear landlady, Mrs. Judson, Basil and I sprang to our feet and to the door, ready to fight and defend the good lady from any possible intruders (although I will add that after witnessing her giving Basil a concussion by mistake with a saucepan, I knew she could hold off one or two intruders willingly.)

"You wish to see Mr. Basil? Right this way please," we overheard our landlady saying graciously to an unknown visitor. "I'll bring some tea and some of my cheese crumpets whilst you see Mr. Basil and Dr. Dawson."

We could not discern our visitor's reply, but Basil's eyes were once again glowing brightly with the curiosity of a cat on the hunt for its prey.

"Once again, my dear Dawson- providence brings us a problem to solve!" He exclaimed, looking at me with a warming enthusiasm which made me smile and my heart lighten.

Little did I know how interesting this case was going to be...


	3. Details of the Case

Mrs. Judson showed an older gentlemouse into the room. "A Mr. Pettigrew for you, Mr. Basil." She announced solemnly, as she took his top hat and a long black coat from him and draping it over on the coat hook. "I shall bring tea and crumpets to you immediately." She informed us, and headed for the kitchen.

"Thank you, Mrs. Judson," Basil said stiffly to her retreating form- but I couldn't ignore the sparkle in those keen green orbs at the prospect of a new case. "Please sit, Mr. Pettigrew- you must be tired after your train ride from Rowe of Tower." He said.

"Amazing!" I remarked. No matter how often my dear friend made his remarkable deductions on others, I

Our visitor raised an elegantly trimmed eyebrow, and he brushed a silvery paw down his suit, nose twitching in agitation.

He crossed the threshold towards the armchairs by the fire. I watched as Basil silently waved our guest to his red chair, before nodding to the green armchair and myself. Annoyed and grateful for the intrusion into my façade, I sat down, for my wounds had begun a dull throb- a sure sign of the rain coming on outside.

Mr. Pettigrew rubbed his paws by the fire, and said not a word; instead opting to watch as I fumbled to find my notebook to record our interview.

"Mr. Pettigrew, before we proceed, I shall like to affirm that you can speak as freely to my colleague, Dr. Dawson, as you would to myself." My friend continued with his customary, detached manner.

Mr. Pettigrew nodded, but raised his eyebrow again as I, in a minute moment of clumsiness, dropped my notebook over the arm of my chair. I could only offer stammered apologies and a sincere, albeit sheepish, smile at my mishap.

"Pray, tell us, Mr. Pettigrew." Basil said to our client. "And do include every minor detail you can recall- they may bear vital significance to our investigation." He added sternly, tactfully ignoring my fumbling.

It was with relief that I took this mouse-given opportunity to rescue my notebook and retrieve my worn pencil from my pocket for some serious note-taking.

"I, as you so correctly deduced, came from Tower of Rowe," he began, quietly. "We are but a small town over two hours from London, and we are a small and close community."

Basil nodded quietly, and I scribbled my notes in what Basil teasingly refers to as my 'doctor's scrawl.'

I plead my innocence in this morbid accusation.

"It first began two weeks ago," Said Mr. Pettigrew, his silver fur gleaming in the light of the fire. His face, etched with years of wisdom and untold experiences, remained solemn and remarkably calm.

"What began?" I asked curiously.

"A series of unfortunate events, Doctor Dawson!" He exclaimed suddenly, catching me off guard. His blue eyes widened as though recalling the travesties of what happened in Tower of Rowe. I poised my pencil, ready to note the unfortunate man's tale.

"Virgin maidens are mysteriously disappearing from the village, Doctor," he began, sounding somewhat strained in composure. "Near the town is a river- a large river. These unfortunate maids, no older than sixteen or seventeen, have been found along the river bank, poorly buried on the bank."

My heart twisted in its chest. Those poor unfortunate girls! I resolved that if Basil would not solve the case and avenge their murder, then I would undertake this task myself.

"When the bodies were found, their left eyes had been taken- and each maid had a mysterious mark on their left wrist."

"What sort of a mark, Mr. Pettigrew- do you know what that mark was? I must know at once!"

"Mr. Basil, I have! And the memory has yet to leave!"

"Then pray tell us what was on the girls' wrists." My friend replied coldly.

Through our visitor's terrified jabbling, I could just about decipher that a letter 'H' had been carved into the girls' wrists, just below their palms, with a knife no thicker than a letter opener.

"So, these girls were somehow murdered, had the letter H carved into the arms, their left eye extracted and were buried by the river." He murmured thoughtfully. "Well, it sounds like a serial killer, Mr. Pettigrew. I suggest you contact Scotland Yard."

"I tried, but I was thrown out on suspicion of being 'under the influence.'" Our client explained wryly. "For you see, Mr. Basil, there have been sightings of a female mouse, wearing a bride's dress and veil, in the tower in the old cemetery." He gave us both the most serious look I had ever witnessed in a client, and then, in a deadly whisper, he spoke. He was so quiet Basil and I had to lean forward to hear him- but the message was loud and clear.

"We believe, Mr. Basil, that _that_ very mouse is responsible for the death of those girls."


End file.
